The Article
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Cuddy fights for her man—literally.


Cuddy poked her head into House's office to see if he wanted to grab lunch and was surprised to see a strange blonde woman—early 30s, pretty, aerobicized within an inch of her life—leaning over his shoulder, looking at a scan, and whispering something in his ear.

She cleared her throat.

House looked up. If he felt guilty, it didn't register on his face.

"Speak of the devil," he said. "Dr. Cuddy, allow me to introduce Vanessa Jones. She writes for Stet! magazine. Cuddy, Vanessa. Vanessa, Cuddy."

Cuddy was familiar with Stet! It was a hip new medical publication geared toward younger doctors. Its slogan was: "This is not your father's journal of medicine."

Cuddy crossed her arms, awaiting further explanation.

"I'm doing a cover story on Dr. House for the November issue," Vanessa offered.

"You don't say," Cuddy said, giving House a look. "Isn't this the kind of thing one normally clears with the Dean of Medicine?"

"It was supposed to be a surprise," House said. "You're always giving me grief for shunning my adoring public."

Cuddy snorted, but said nothing.

"Anyway, if it's alright with you, Vanessa is going to be shadowing me and my team for the next few days," House said.

Cuddy looked around the room in mock confusion. Vanessa was still standing behind House. She actually had her hand on his shoulder.

"Funny, I see your shadow, but I don't seem to see your team," she said.

"They're running some tests," House said. If he was picking up on any sarcasm on Cuddy's part, he wasn't showing it.

"Are you a doctor as well as a journalist?" Cuddy asked Vanessa.

Vanessa smiled blandly at her, as though Cuddy has just asked a very stupid question.

"No . . .why?"

"You seemed awfully interested in that scan," Cuddy said.

"Dr. House was just showing me how the tiniest shadow can indicate a major problem," she said. "I'd love to pick your brain, too, if you don't mind. It must be so exhilarating to work side by side with a medical genius like him."

"She does find me very stimulating," House said, grinning.

"I'll bet she does!" Vanessa said.

They both laughed, then looked up at Cuddy. She was trying to shake the feeling that she had interrupted something intimate between them.

"So I guess you're, uh, not free for lunch?" she finally asked House.

"Vanessa and I actually grabbed a bite earlier," he said.

"Oh. . .But you're still. . . coming over tonight?"

"That's the plan."

"Alright, see you later."

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Cuddy," Vanessa said, and leaned, boobs first, over House's shoulder again.

That night, after dinner, Cuddy finally got around to asking House about Vanessa.

They were doing dishes—or more accurately, Cuddy was doing the dishes and House was putting them away. House could solve the most arcane and complex medical problem, but he couldn't actually be trusted to render a dish clean or dry.

"So what's the story with that Vanessa woman?" Cuddy said, trying to make her voice sound casual.

"Story?" House shrugged. "I don't know. She's a reporter. I think she went to the Columbia School of Journalism, or something."

"She seemed a little. . .aggressive," Cuddy said, handing him a plate.

"Aggressive?"

"The way she was standing over you and touching you was a bit much, don't you think? She practically had her boobs in your face."

"I'm pretty sure her boobs go wherever her torso goes," House said.

"That's the point, her torso was draped all over you."

"I didn't notice," House said.

"Liar!" she scoffed. Then, hesitating, she asked: "And why didn't you introduce me as your girlfriend, anyway?"

"I was preserving your privacy," he said, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"What are you smirking about?"

"You're jealous!"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh my God, this is the cutest thing ever," he said, putting his arms around her in a somewhat patronizing way. "You're jealous of reporter girl."

"Please," Cuddy said. But she knew she was busted. She gave a small, concessional smile. "Okay, maybe a little. Reporter girl is a predator, House. Trust me. A woman knows such things."

"You're just being paranoid," he said.

"No, I'm not. She's a hunter and you're her prey."

"If so, she's going to have to find someone else to hunt," he said, blowing an errant bubble off Cuddy's face, and kissing her. "I'm already captured and fully domesticated."

"You better be," she said, standing on her tip-toes to give him a better kiss.

He kissed back, put down the dish he was holding, pressed her up against the kitchen counter.

Just then, his phone rang.

"Shit. Hold that thought," he said, kissing her again.

"Y'allo," he said into the phone.

He looked at the phone with some consternation and then wandered out of the kitchen.

"I, uh, can't right now," she heard him say softly. "Maybe tomorrow after work? Yes. . . I promise. . . Okay. . .Uh, same to you."

Cuddy stared at him.

"That was her, wasn't it?" she demanded.

"Oddly enough, it was," he admitted.

"It's 9 o clock. What did she want?"

"She wanted to meet for a drink at Sullivan's. To get me to 'open up,' she says. Probably to ask me if I was a tree, what kind of tree I'd be."

"So let me get this straight. She wanted to have drinks with you now?"

"Right."

"And you said no to tonight but you're having drinks with her tomorrow?"

"A drink, Cuddy. Singular. After work. To humor her. It is a cover story."

Cuddy frowned. A cover story in Stet! was actually a pretty big deal for the hospital.

"Alright, fine. One drink. . . And I'm almost afraid to ask, but what was that whole 'same to you' business at the end?"

House mumbled something incomprehensible that sounded like, "She told me to have a St. James."

"What?"

"She told me to have sweet dreams," he repeated.

Cuddy shook her head incredulously.

"I'm telling you, House. This woman is nothing but trouble."

The next morning, Cuddy bumped into Vanessa in the hospital lobby. She was talking to her photographer—a wormy guy named Tim who was making a nuisance of himself by photographing patients without getting clearance forms.

"Good morning, Dr. Cuddy," Vanessa said brightly. "We need to schedule our interview."

"Absolutely," Cuddy said. "But before that, can I have a private word with you. . .in my office?"

"Sure thing," said Vanessa, tossing her mane of dirty blonde hair and following. "I'll catch up with you later, Tim."

Cuddy preferred the balance of power in her own office. She wanted to make sure that Vanessa knew who she was dealing with.

She gestured for Vanessa to sit. For the first time, Cuddy was able to fully take her in: She was a kind of New York trendy type, today wearing a faux fur fest and brown wool tights and suede ankle boots. Cuddy hated that type. She was pretty, in a spoiled socialite sort of way, but her boobs were far too big and perky to be real.

"I know you're having drinks tonight with Dr. House after work," Cuddy said to her.

"That's right," Vanessa said, narrowing her eyes.

"Did Dr. House happen to mention to you that he and I are. . .together?"

"Together as in. . . together together?" Vanessa asked.

"Yes," Cuddy said. "Together together."

"Must've slipped his mind," Vanessa said.

"Well I'm telling you now."

"Okay. . . that's good. Adds some intrigue to the story."

"I'm not telling you for the story. I'm telling you as a woman," Cuddy said.

"And why do you think that I, as a woman, need to have this information?"

"Because yesterday I didn't walk in on an interview, I walked in on a seduction," Cuddy said.

"All great interviews are a form of seduction," Vanessa said coyly.

"Where'd you get that? Edward R. Murrow?" Cuddy scoffed.

"It's my own theory," Vanessa said. "Hasn't failed me yet."

"How bout less seducing and more reporting?" Cuddy said.

Vanessa gave a falsely obedient smile.

"Whatever you say, Dr. Cuddy."

House was supposed to come by Cuddy's place after his drink with Vanessa. It was 6:30 and still no sign of him.

She started a crossword puzzle. 7:30. She finished the puzzle and moved onto her book. 8:30. She made herself a cup of tea. 9:30. Still no House.

At 10:15, he finally knocked on the door. By the way he staggered into the room, he had clearly had more than the one promised drink.

"Hello, lover," he slurred, going to give her a kiss. She pushed him off.

"You reek of scotch," she said. "And you're about 3 hours later than I was expecting you. What happened to one drink?"

"She kept buying me refills!" House said. "She was relentless. I couldn't escape."

"Did she proposition you?" Cuddy asked.

"No, she interviewed me!"

"About what? Your penis size?"

"About. . .I dunno," he said cagily. "Medical stuff. Amazing tales of me pulling people back from the brink of death. You want me to recount our whole conversation?"

"No," Cuddy said. "I want you to sleep it off. . .on the couch."

"Really?" he said.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"You're overreacting. The whole thing was strictly professional."

"Good night, House."

Cuddy roughly threw him a pillow, which he caught. She walked into the bedroom and closed the door.

"All we did was talk about you anyway," he muttered under his breath.

The following day Cuddy had a second confrontation with Vanessa, this time in the ladies room.

They were both fixing their makeup in the mirror. Today, Vanessa was wearing a black sweater dress with an elaborate tassled scarf wrapped around her neck and leopard booties.

"I'm not sure if I made myself perfectly clear yesterday," Cuddy said, reapplying some Rouge Coco lipstick. "I need for you to stop hitting on my boyfriend."

"I'm not hitting on him, I'm writing a story," Vanessa said, powdering her nose.

"You plied him with scotch for 4 hours last night," Cuddy said, pressing her lips together to evenly spread the lipstick.

"An age-old reporter's technique," Vanessa said, spritzing herself with a tiny bottle of perfume.

"So let me get this straight? Seduction? Booze? Do you work for a magazine. . .or a brothel?"

"That's cute, Dr. Cuddy."

"You have the hots for him, don't you?" Cuddy said, staring at Vanessa's reflection in the mirror.

She smiled a little.

"So what if I do? He's gorgeous. He's brilliant. Surely I'm not the first woman to pose a romantic threat. If you can't stand the heat. . ."

"We're not in a kitchen. We're in a hospital. That I run."

"I don't see a ring on his finger," Vanessa said.

"And yet, oddly enough, he's taken."

"If you say so. He didn't seem particularly taken last night, when we were having drinks."

Now Cuddy turned to her, face on.

"I don't know how to put this more clearly. Keep it professional or I will kick you and that obnoxious photographer of yours out of my hospital."

"Hmmm. . . I wonder how the board would respond to you rejecting some priceless free publicity for the hospital just because you couldn't hang onto your man," Vanessa said.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a lipstick: Rouge Coco. She smeared it on her lips provocatively.

"Apparently we share the same taste in many things, Dr. Cuddy," she said.

Two nights later, Wilson, Cuddy, and House went to Sullivan's after work.

They were sitting at a table, having a few laughs when the waitress came over and handed House a glass of scotch and a handwritten note on a cocktail napkin.

"From the lady at the bar," she said.

House looked up. Of course, it was Vanessa. He raised his glass at her, looked at the note, put it in his pocket.

"No way," Cuddy said.

"Yeah. . .not happening," Wilson agreed. "Spill it, House."

"She just wants to, uh, meet for another interview," House dissembled.

"That's what the napkin says? I want to interview you again?" Wilson asked skeptically.

"Not in so many words," House admitted. He shrugged, pulled the crumpled napkin out of his pocket. It read: "Lose your friends and meet me at the bar in half an hour." It was signed with a heart.

"Wow," Wilson whistled. "She is a real piece of work."

"Excuse me," Cuddy said, getting up.

"Now don't do anything rash, Cuddy," Wilson warned.

"I'm just going to the bathroom," she replied innocently.

They watched her for a second to see if she was heading toward Vanessa. She wasn't. They got back to their conversation about a nurse they were convinced used to be a porn star.

They were so engrossed, in fact, they didn't notice that Cuddy had faked going to the bathroom, and was now marching straight toward Vanessa.

"Step off, bitch," Cuddy said, getting in her face.

"Oh, that's really scary, coming from a pencil pusher like yourself," Vanessa said. "What are you going to do: File me to death? Attack me with an expense report?"

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do," Cuddy said, inching closer.

Wilson spotted them. "Uh oh. Danger, Will Robinson! 3 o clock."

House looked over. Cuddy and Vanessa were nose-to-nose, like two prize fighters at a weigh in.

"Awesome!" House said gleefully. "Should I get popcorn?"

"No, you should rescue your girlfriend, before she does something she regrets."

"I knew she shouldn't have had that second martini," House muttered. He limped toward the two women.

"Why don't you find your own man, you pathetic loser," he heard Cuddy say.

And he watched, in slow horror, as Vanessa "accidentally" spilled her red wine down Cuddy's blouse.

"Whoops," she said.

"That's it!"

Cuddy lunged. House grabbed her from behind, in a bear hug.

"Easy there, tigress," he said.

Cuddy resisted his grip, and flailed futilely toward Vanessa, looking a bit like a cartoon character who wanted to fight. House found her unbelievably adorable in this moment.

"Let's go home, doctor," he said.

Then he addressed Vanessa. "Hope you got enough for your story, honey. Because our special one-on-one time is over."

He half dragged, half-carried Cuddy to the exit.

Wilson gave a small laugh and a sympathetic wave as they left until he realized that they'd left him with the bill.

"Crap," he said.

"You can let go of me now," Cuddy said, when they got to the car.

"You sure there, killer?" House asked, letting go and chuckling.

"That bitch tried to steal my man and then she ruined my blouse," Cuddy said, buckling her seatbelt and staring out the window angrily.

"I never liked that blouse anyway," he said, pulling out of the parking lot, trying to make light.

"You should've let me get in one good pop," she said. "Just one good smack across her smug little face."

"I have literally never been as turned on by you as I am in this very moment," House said. It came across like a joke, but he meant it. He wanted to pull the car over and do unspeakable things to her along the side of the road.

"Shut up," she pouted.

"When we get home, I'm going to draw you a bath and give you a massage," House said. "My way of apologizing for putting you through this. You're right. She was . . .inappropriate."

"Ha!" Cuddy snorted. "That's the understatement of the century."

"There is not a woman on this planet who could lure me away from you," he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

She wrinkled her nose.

"Angelina Jolie?"

"Definitely not!"

"Penelope Cruz?"

"Okay, maybe her."

One day, two months later, Cuddy went into the DDx room, looking for House. She hadn't seen him all day, which was unusual. He wasn't there, but his team was huddled around the table, a magazine spread out in front of them. When they saw her, Chase grabbed it and put it behind his back.

"Hand it over," Cuddy said.

"It's nothing," Chase said.

"It's that article, isn't it?"

"House told us not to show it you," Taub said.

"And yet I outrank him," Cuddy said. "Give."

Chase reluctantly reached behind him and handed her the rolled up magazine.

"Thank you."

She took it and went back to her office.

There House was on the cover, looking handsome in a sky blue shirt—and were his eyes really that blue or was it photoshop?

The story was called "House Call."

Original, Cuddy thought.

The interior photos—they had finally gotten clearance from the lawyers—were black and white, documentary style pictures of House and his team, one in the OR, a bunch in the differential room.

As for Vanessa's writing style? It was the sort of chummy, overly conversational first person stuff that Cuddy hated. Or maybe she just hated Vanessa. It was really hard to say at this point.

She read the article, wondering what House was so eager to hide from her.

It was the standard stuff: House as a genius diagnostician, House as an anti-authoritarian rebel, House as medical maverick, blah, blah, blah.

Except for a few references to his "piercing blue eyes" and "roguish smile"—there was no reason for him to be avoiding her.

That is, until she got to the end of the story. It read:

_House's piercing blue eyes certainly light up when he's discussing a medical mystery, but nothing brings a smile to the good doctor's face quite like the topic of Dr. Lisa Cuddy, the hospital's Dean of Medicine, who also happens to be his girlfriend. It takes several drinks and almost four hours, but I finally get the famously private House to open up about the brunette beauty._

_"She's just an incredibly intoxicating blend of brains and beauty," House says, as if he still can't believe his dumb luck. "I'm just one lucky bastard to have her."_

_But how does the whole boss/employee thing work, especially in light of House's notoriously anti-establishment ways?_

_"I yield some, she yields some," House says. "We get into a rhythm. It's like. . .great sex. Metaphorically speaking," he quips. "We don't actually have sex in the office. Well, except that one time. In the supply closet."_

_So does this mean wedding bells might be in the confirmed bachelor's future?_

_"I would marry her. . .I really would, you know?" he muses. "The real question is, would she be stupid enough to marry me?"_

_At long last, it seems I found the one person whose heart Dr. House can't diagnose: Dr. Lisa Cuddy._

_THE END_

Cuddy put the magazine down, flattered, stunned, and slightly annoyed that he had confessed to their supply closet indiscretion.

"Oh crap," House said. He was standing in her doorway. "You've read it already."

She smiled at him.

"When you propose, I promise to act surprised," she teased.

"I swear, I didn't say those things!" he protested. "She quoted me out of context! I could sue for gross journalistic misconduct!"

Cuddy gave him a look of extravagant sympathy.

"C'mere, maverick," she said, standing up and holding out her arms. "Allow me intoxicate you with my incredible brains and beauty."

"I don't know why you think this is so funny." he said, limping over to her and allowing himself to be hugged. "I'm obviously going to need to join the Witness Protection Program after this thing hits the streets. And you're coming with me."

"As long as Vanessa doesn't know where to find us, you have a deal."

"That she-devil is definitely not invited," he said.

Cuddy laughed, kissed him on the cheek, then leaned in closer.

"You know I am, by the way," she whispered.

"You are what?"

"That stupid."


End file.
